Nightmares and Musical Notes
by KassandraScarlett
Summary: John's out, leaving Rosamund with Sherlock. The poor detective is tempted to give up his job as god-father (even though he knows he doesn't really want to), until Rosie has a nightmare and he realises he knows how to calm her down, because, well, like father-like daughter, really. (Cross-posted on AO3)


**Just a random thing that popped into my head. Bold writing is Sherlock's own thoughts and italics are his conscience. You'll see the difference.**

* * *

Sherlock stared at the sleeping figure on his bed in exasperation. Really, were all infants this... annoying? _'Relax, Sherlock, it's just a baby,'_ he could hear the John of his conscience speaking. It would be a hundred years before John let him forget that he, Sherlock Holmes, had been defeated by an... an... irritating, noisy, weepy, snivelling, slobbering, drooling... creature. Although, it was cute.

Sherlock groaned slightly. Since, when did he start using words like cute, even in his thoughts? _'Since John, then Mary, and now recently, Rosie,'_ his inner-John supplied. Very helpful. Sherlock quietly vowed to himself that he would never again allow the doctor to put him through this torture. He had spent a good part of his morning and all of his afternoon trying to keep John and Mary's daughter away from his experiments. Then, he had to go through the absurdly messy task of feeding her milk from a bottle. It didn't help that she kept pushing it away, batting at his hands or simply refusing to swallow and letting the milk dribble from her mouth all over her chest and Sherlock's pristine purple shirt. He had next to no idea how he had gotten her to drink. Maybe, she'd gotten bored of acting up. Sherlock was not one prone to praying to any higher power, but right now, he thanked all the deities he knew that Rosie had finally fallen asleep due to sheer exhaustion, thus allowing him to carry her to his room.

Sighing, he lifted his violin from his case and lightly touched the strings. Just as he placed it under his chin, a mewling sound spun in the air and Sherlock turned with a frown to see Rosie twisting on the mattress, her eyes screwed tightly shut. It was wide enough that she would not fall off, but there was a dainty frown on her small petal-shaped lips and her tiny fists were flailing as she attempted to fight off whatever was bothering her. Sherlock felt a strange twist in his chest as he recalled a similar situation just two years ago, when they'd returned from a case concerning a particularly violent child-rapist. John had had vivid nightmares, screams of agony ripping from his lips that had Sherlock running to his bedroom to wake him. When he hadn't been able to fall back asleep for fear of the visions, Sherlock had, on a whim, offered to play the violin in order to calm him. To his surprise, the music had coaxed John back into a deep sleep.

Watching Rosie now, Sherlock decided he had two choices: let the nightmare run its course or try to chase it away with music. Sherlock considered carefully and lifted the violin to his chin again. **'It'd be too much of a bother to deal with if she wakes up frightened,'** he told himself sternly. **'This is simply for my own benefit.'** _'Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, mate.'_ **'Shut up, John.'** Keeping his eyes on his god-daughter, he took a seat on the bed, being careful not to jostle it too much, and began to play Brahms - Violin Sonata No. 3. The sweet melody flowed from the strings like liquid silver. Sherlock watched Rosie as he played, his glasz-colored eyes never losing their laser focus, even as he let himself drown in the symphony of notes.

Another two hours later, John entered the room, half-afraid of what the silence may mean and what he might find, though the rational part of his brain told him that in spite of Sherlock's so-called sociopathic tendencies, he would never let any harm come to Rosie. Fear of John's wrath aside, Sherlock was as close to being smitten with his god-daughter as he could possibly be. To his surprise, as John opened the door to Sherlock's bedroom (they weren't in the living room and his own bedroom door was open, so he could see they weren't there, either), he was met with an astounding sight. Rosie was lying on her stomach, limbs loose and relaxed, her eyes closed, breathing deep and even. And Sherlock was half-sat up next to her, his own eyes closed while his fingers carded through her hair.

"She's like you," Sherlock muttered without opening his eyes. "Music calms her down when she can't sleep or is having a nightmare." John didn't bother trying to hide his smile. "Wish Mary could have seen this," he whispered. Sherlock grimaced. "Goodness, no, she would have used it as blackmail and asked me to babysit all the time." "I can do the same thing," John countered. "And it's not like you would ever refuse to do it, yeah?" It took Sherlock a minute to reply. "I suppose I wouldn't mind, every now and then. Not that bad an experience, really. And it does keep one occupied." "Yeah, no shit, Sherlock," John chuckled as he quietly took out his phone and snapped a quick photo of the scene, before the consulting detective could protest. "You keep trying to convince both of us of those reasons, okay?"

* * *

 **This takes place after season 4, so Mary's dead and John and Sherlock are living together again. Also, glasz is an actual color, it's not a typo. Anyways, review, please.**


End file.
